‘This is all your fault,’ she yelled at him. ‘You’ve ruined all our lives.’
Bernie hitched up his trousers with the thick elastic of his braces and ambled over to her. Everyone in the small, overheated room seemed to hold their breath and although it was plain what was going to happen next, Jess stood transfixed as she watched the fist come towards her in what seemed like endless slow motion.
It hit her full in the chest, sending her flying so that she fell so hard against the chair upon which Lizzie had previously been sitting, that it tipped over backwards. Jess cracked her head on the sideboard and fell in a crumpled heap, one foot twisted awkwardly beneath her. Pain shot through her but she wasn’t even blessed with oblivion as the room spun dizzily about her. There was something wet and sticky on her face, which she took to be blood and she could hear Cora crying.
Lizzie was shouting at her to hold her noise. ‘Shurrup, will you. Don’t you realise you’re only upsetting Bernie even more with your caterwauling.’
The next instant her uncle was standing over her, a smile on his face that could only have come from the devil himself. For the first time Jess experienced real fear as she felt her own helplessness.
‘Don’t cross me girl. I don’t like it.’ Then he hunkered down beside her, pushing his face so close she could smell his stinking breath, the result of too much tobacco and whisky, and days of unscrubbed teeth. His voice was soft, but rich with menace. ‘When I ask for details, I expect to get them. Understand? This evening you’ll fetch me the details of the location of the new till Mr Simmons has so thoughtfully provided, and where he keeps the key for it. Also, the likely day when there’ll be most money in it. That is not on pay day or the day he goes to the bank. Is that clear?’
After a largely sleepless night worrying over the loss of her trumpet, and trying not to think too much about the implications of Bernie’s latest threat, Jess set off for work the next morning without bothering to collect herself a breakfast. She was far too anxious to escape. But despite leaving especially early, she didn’t succeed.
Bernie suddenly jumped out in front of her just as she was walking along Cumberland Street. It gave her such a shock that Jess stopped in her tracks, hand pressed to her chest, breathing hard. Nervous of inflaming her uncle’s temper yet again, she remembered Cora’s advice and kept silent, waiting to see what he wanted this time, although she could guess.
She’d avoided his return the previous night by going to bed early but if he thought she would be cowed by his bullying, he’d another think coming. Nothing would induce her to betray the Simmons’s.
‘I wanted to catch you before you went off to work because I don’t think you quite understand what it is I want from you. I thought it best if I explain it again, nice and calm like, with no tantrums or tears. All right by you, Poppet?’
Jess felt a chill run down her spine. Never had he used endearments towards her before, and nothing good could be meant by it. ‘I understand perfectly what you want, but I’ve already told you I can’t provide any information at all about the new till. I really don’t think there’s anything more to be said on the matter.’ She made to move past him but he blocked her way.
‘Oh aye, you really don’t, do you? La-di-dah all of a sudden, aren’t we? Fact is, I’m not sure if you appreciate how things have been a bit tight lately, what with the war, and your mam not being fit to work. The fact is, I need you to contribute more towards your keep.’
Jess was appalled. She already paid him a pound a week for herself and her mother, plus extras towards rent and other household bills which Cora never quite seemed able to manage. ‘I pay my whack. You know I can’t afford to pay any more than I already do. I’m saving up for a place of our own. Anyway, it’s as much your responsibility as mine that Mam is in the state she is. You owe it to her, and to me, to help get her back on her feet.’
His face was as hard and cold as polished steel but his tone remained soft, barely above a whisper. ‘That’s what I’m saying, love. You do me a few favours and I’ll see what I can do to help you.’ He rested one massive hand on the wall above her head as he leaned closer, thus bringing the stink of his breath to her nostrils yet again and Jess almost threw up when he started to scratch his crotch right there in front of her. What an unpleasant, despicable man he was, surely the very worst uncle a girl could possibly have.
‘Nice young lass like you should be able to think of some way to please a chap.’
Terror pierced her. ‘I don’t know what you mean, but if you don’t let me go soon I’ll be late for work, and what good will that do either of us if I get the sack? I won’t be able to pay you anything then.’
His smile was chilling. ‘I just need a minute to talk about this reluctance of yours to give me information on the new till at Simmons’s. Folk struggling to get the hang of it could prove useful. Instead of ringing up the exact sum, you could happen ring up less and pocket the difference.’
Jess thought she must not have heard him right but, apparently, she had. ‘Never! You must think I’m soft in the head.’
His lip curled upward in a most unpleasant parody of a smile. ‘It’s quite simple. If the customer spends half a crown, you only ring up two bob and you put the rest in your pocket. A few extra shillings and sixpences here and there’ll add up to a tidy sum by the end of the month. Don’t overdo it, mind. Be canny.’
Jess was aghast by the suggestion. ‘But that’s stealing!’
‘Nay, think of it as a bonus on your wages. One you deserve for working so hard.’
‘It’s not a bonus, it’s theft! And why on earth would I steal from Mr Simmons? He’s never done me any harm. In fact he’s been kindness itself.’ She didn’t say how he’d started unlocking the door even earlier in a morning now that summer was changing into autumn and it was often cold or wet. How he let her warm herself in the bakery before giving her any jobs to do and, having one morning noticed the size of her breakfast, had insisted Robert give her a buttered bap from the bakery, sometimes with a bit of fried Spam to go with it. ‘What do you think I am?’
‘A chip off the old block.’
Jess went all hot with fury. How dare he presume such a thing? ‘Just because my mother was stupid enough to do everything you told her and landed herself in jail as a result, doesn’t mean that I’m as daft as she is. I’m nothing like Lizzie. Anyroad, even she only stole that one time because you made her.’
Bernie laughed. ‘One time? Is that what you think? Shows how little you know your own mother.’
Some instinct told Jess that perhaps he could be right there, that Lizzie might have gone in for more petty thieving than she’d admitted to, so she shifted to another tack. ‘Mr Simmons would soon spot that the money in the till didn’t match what had gone off the shelves.’
‘He wouldn’t suspect a thing, not if you do as I say and don’t ring up the full amount. And even if he did get suspicious, he’d put it down to problems with you numbskulls learning how to operate the new machine. There’d be no danger of your getting caught, or anyone suspecting you of doing anything wrong, not with that angelic face of yours, and those big brown innocent eyes. And if you think Lizzie has mended her ways then you must indeed be soft in the head. She’s still at it, even now. If you don’t want her back inside, it’s up to you to stop her. Who knows what might happen, otherwise?’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘Let’s call it a timely warning.’
Jess felt a small panic start up. What was he suggesting? Had Lizzie really started her shop-lifting again? Surely even her trollop of a mother wouldn’t be so stupid? ‘You know I don’t want her back in jail. Nor do I have any intention of ending up in prison myself, ta very much.’
He stroked a finger down her cheek, making Jess shudder with revulsion. ‘You’re a bonny lass, and as well as being prettier than your ma you’re more intelligent, so you have the good sense not to get caught. Just remember, I can’t afford to bank roll the pair of you a
ny longer, so You’ll have to pay her whack as well as your own, one way or the other.’
Jess was shaking in every limb, trembling with fear, yet determined not to become a victim, like her mam. ‘I’ll not do it. One thief in my family is enough. Yours seems to have any number.’
He flipped out a hand and clouted her across the side of her head, sending her staggering with the weight of the blow. ‘Watch that glib mouth of yours, girl.’
‘And you watch that fist of yours,’ Jess shouted back, eyes filling with hot tears. ‘Don’t think you can bully me, because you can’t. I’ve told you, I’m not my mother!’
He grabbed her by the shoulders then and shook her so violently that it made her head rock backwards and forwards on her slender neck. Jess could smell the sweet-sour stink of stale sweat on him and, screwing up her nose in distaste, she tried to pull away but he had too firm a grip. The pressure of his bloated stomach trapping her against the wall made her cringe with loathing.
He was still talking and although fear was overwhelming her, and her senses were reeling, she knew she must listen.
‘. . . so we need to come to a mutually beneficial arrangement, then your trumpet might magically reappear. Who knows? You fetch a few sixpences, or better still, pound notes, home from that shop and I’ll get that blasted instrument out of hock for you, so long as you play it outside and not in the bleedin’ house. How would that be, eh? I can’t say fairer than that, now can I?’
‘Never!’ Jess said, almost spitting in his face.
His face darkened. ‘You’re our Jake all over again, you. He always had to argue the whole damned time. Nothing was ever good enough for him. Never would do as he was told.’
‘If you mean that I speak my mind and stand up for what’s right, yes I do, and always will. I intend to remain honest like my dad. I’d rather replace a hundred trumpets you steal from the Salvation Army than give in to your nasty threats.’
Placing his mouth close against her ear, his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, ‘Look at it this way girl, it’s your mam who would benefit. If you want to keep her safe then do as I say or you’ll live to regret it. If you refuse, I’ll make you sorrier than you can imagine. I’m a patient man, but I wouldn’t recommend you push me too far. Who knows what I might be forced to do.’
If she’d felt a prick of fear before, now she was paralysed by it. It drained Jess of all energy, making her feel limp and helpless in his massive hands. Aware suddenly of her own fragile vulnerability, Jess felt as impotent as a fly caught in a giant’s fist. He could snuff her out without a second thought. Or could he?
Much as he might want to, he needed her. As he said himself, Lizzie was useless, and Jess sensed in Harry and Bert the start of a quiet rebellion. They were tired of dancing to his tune and wanted to make their own way in the world. Besides, if she let Bernie get away with bullying her as he had Lizzie and Cora, then she would be lost, forever in his power. In the few seconds it took her to think this through, Jess resolved she would never allow that to happen.
Lifting her chin she looked him straight in the eye, somehow managing to dampen down her fear sufficiently to say her piece. ‘Do your worst, I’m not scared of you, great bully that you are. I’m saving for a decent future for Mam and me, so don’t think you can force me to do anything wrong or against the law, because you can’t. I’ll never do it. Never!’
Momentarily startled, either by her bravery or her cheek, his hands went loose, which gave Jess the chance to wrench herself free of his grasp. She swung away from him to march away up the street, head held high. And then a bark of laughter rang out. ‘That’s what you think girl. That’s what you think.’
The sound of his raucous laughter followed her every step of the way.
Chapter Eleven
‘Buy your own trumpet and keep it well hidden from your uncle.’ Leah urged Jess, as if the solution were simple.
‘How? Do you know how much trumpets cost? And where could I possibly put it to keep it safely away from his grasping fingers?’ Jess had made no mention to her friend about the real reason for her uncle pawning the trumpet: his insistence that she should steal from Leah’s own father. It didn’t seem quite appropriate, and if Mr Simmons ever got wind of it, might well result in Jess losing her job.
They were sitting on a couple of chairs in a corner of the dance hall sipping lemonade as they exchanged confidences. On this occasion they were at the Harpurhey Baths Ballroom on Rochdale Road with strict instructions not to miss the bus and be home by ten, Jess now staying over at the Simmons’s house on the nights they went dancing.
There were a lot of air force trainees around tonight who were stationed at Heaton Park so, as usual, neither girl had been short of partners. At that moment an airman asked Jess for a dance and, remembering Mrs Simmons’s advice, she politely accepted although she was far more concerned about what to do about the loss of her trumpet. She had to concentrate hard to give the young man her full attention. It was a quickstep and he didn’t start off too well as he immediately trod on her foot, then let his hand slide down to her bottom as he pretended to lose his balance.
‘Sorry about that. Quite a crush in here tonight.’
‘That’s all right,’ Jess said, placing his hand back on her waist.
As they danced, she scoured every face in the band as she always did, and was disappointed not to see one that she recognised. There were two trumpets, one bass, three saxes and a trombone, plus a pianist and drummer. They were good, putting lots of energy into the music but Steve Wyman was not amongst them. She became absorbed watching the trumpet players, checking their fingerwork as they played her favourite, Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree.
‘Am I boring you?’ her partner asked, rather rudely Jess thought even as her cheeks coloured slightly with shame over her inattention. His hand felt hot and sweaty on her back, in fact it was edging around to the front, creeping up her rib cage and Jess began to feel acutely uncomfortable. He was pushing her round in a dizzying whirl, and had again trodden on her feet a couple of times. He must be the clumsiest dancer on the floor and she couldn’t help but compare him with Steve, wondering where he was playing these days.
Leah shimmied past in the arms of a sailor. ‘You could always store it at our place.’
‘What? Oh, absolutely not. I don’t . . .’
‘Accept charity, I know. But what are friends for?’
‘Excuse me,’ said the airman, his probing fingers now squeezing the curve of her breast. ‘Are you with her or me?’
‘Her,’ Jess said, and walked off the floor.
Jess decided that she really wasn’t in the mood for dancing tonight and spent the remainder of the evening hiding away in the cloakroom, chewing over her problem. What could she do? She didn’t want to give up her trumpet lessons, nor her work with the Sally Army. But she was going to have to explain to Sergeant Ted that she’d lost the instrument, hopefully without creating even more problems. The last thing she wanted was for the sergeant to come and tackle Uncle Bernie, because she knew who would come off the worst in any confrontation. Oh, why did he have to spoil everything for her?
Later, as they changed their shoes and collected their coats and bags, Leah noticed that Jess was still troubled and tried to offer some comfort. ‘He’ll have taken it to Mr Yoffey’s pawn shop. Why don’t we go and talk to him? We may be able to negotiate a deal. The dear man has a heart of gold and may let you have the trumpet back without paying a penny.’
Jess didn’t believe this to be a possibility, not for a moment, but went along with the plan anyway. What did she have to lose?
Abe Yoffey considered the two girls very seriously from behind his owlish spectacles for a long time in contemplative silence. He liked young people, having served as Treasurer for some years in the Manchester Young Zionist Society, now sadly in abeyance. On the other hand, he was of the opinion that the role of the female of the species was best confined to the home front, to nurturing, and to prov
iding refreshments for functions at the synagogue or, in this case, the citadel. Playing the piano, as Miss Leah was known to do was one thing, wanting to play a trumpet seemed to be quite another entirely. What was the world coming to? Dear, dear, dear. Girls were even driving trams these days. Yet he liked to think of himself as having a generous nature, and not one of the narrow-minded breed who so blighted every religion, including his own. Perhaps prejudice against women was equally as bad.
Prejudice. He should be guilty of such a thing?
He gave an expressive shrug. ‘You want for me to give you a trumpet? I’m so old and foolish I would give something away for nothing?’
He woke every morning in a cold sweat, waiting for the knock on his door which would bring incarceration. Early in the war, May 1940 to be exact, most of his friends had been taken away to be interned as aliens for the duration simply because they were Jews. For some reason, perhaps because of his age, eighty-nine next birthday, and the fact that he was well liked: a childless widower who had lived in Manchester for most of his life and whose family was all dead and gone, had saved him. Abe suffered the occasional brick thrown through his window but he could live with that. He desperately longed to stay in his own home and, for now at least, a blind eye had been turned and he remained unmolested. But he had little hope of it lasting. It would be his turn next. Being a Jew anywhere, even in Britain, wasn’t a good thing to be right now.
‘It would only sit in the back of your shop otherwise, wouldn’t it, dear Mr Yoffey?’ Leah artfully pointed out.
‘Forever, I should think. Don’t I get better ones through my doors every day of the week?’
‘Then I’m sure you wouldn’t mind letting it go.’
‘My uncle had no right to hock it. It didn’t even belong to him, but to the Salvation Army.’
‘But you say you have no money?’ He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture.
Leah wasn’t for giving up. ‘You could think of it as a sort of loan.’
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